


Worth the Wait

by angelsandbrowncoats



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Character Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Mildly Graphic Violence, Suicide Attempt, Waylon Jones is a goddamn delight, but nothing happens until jason is 20 bc roy is responsible like that, roy and jason meet while jason is underage, the canon one though i don't go into much detail, the joker dies, this is like the one story where i don't give him a redemption arc sorry, this was supposed to be short but it got out of hand fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsandbrowncoats/pseuds/angelsandbrowncoats
Summary: When Roy Harper was eighteen, he met a thirteen-year-old Robin and saw red for the first time. That was how it worked. Meet your soulmate and see your first color,theirmost important color. Kiss your soulmate to see the rest. Roy resolved to be content with just red and swore to avoid Robin as much as possible for the next five years, at least.When Roy Harper was twenty, the red fades. His soulmate died. Roy let himself give up.When Roy Harper was twenty-two, Killer Croc taught him how to keep going.When Roy Harper was twenty-five, he met a mysterious man on the streets of Gotham who brings his red back and shows him green. There's no record of someone regaining a color once it faded. Roy needed to learn more, even if he's not sure he's prepared for what he might find.
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel (minor), Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Comments: 17
Kudos: 354





	Worth the Wait

**Author's Note:**

> It's absolutely wild to me that this is the first JayRoy fic I'm posting. I'm working on a bunch of them atm, and this is far from the first one I started writing. It's also the darkest, I think, which is why I feel weird posting it first. Like it's gonna set the tone for my JayRoy all wrong. Plus the character development caused by the plot/soulmate part causes some of them to stray a bit from the norm of characterization, I think. 
> 
> But whatever, it's the first I finished so it's the first I'll post. This was supposed to be short and only mildly angsty, but I think I kinda went off the rails with it for a hot second. Only partially bc I was being stalked by a large raccoon while writing one section and kept getting distracted. Also, this is part of a disconnected series of JayRoy/BatFam fics I'm making where I see how many different characters I can make kill the Joker, bc fuck that guy. 
> 
> I think I covered most of the important warnings in the tags, but there is a section where I go into a bit of detail about Roy's drug abuse. I don't have a lot of firsthand experience with drugs, but all of my descriptions are based off real descriptions I've heard from a variety of sources, just changed to fit Roy and the plot. Also Bruce is just absolute trash here and I'm kinda sad about it because I like redemption arcs but it didn't fit.

When Roy Harper was eighteen, he saw red for the first time. Not in the figurative sense of _rage_ , but in the literal sense of being able to see color. It meant he’d met his soulmate. For as long as people could remember, it worked that way: when you meet your soulmate, you see your first color, whatever color most defines them. When you kiss them for the first time, you get the entire rainbow.

Red was _gorgeous,_ Roy decided when he saw it. He wasn’t sure if he was more excited to see the rest of the colors, or if he didn’t care because how could any of them ever compare to _red_?

He soon realized, though, that it didn’t matter. He’d have years to enjoy red before he got the chance to see any other colors. It didn’t take long for him to realize that the color had appeared when he’d met the Titans’ temporary new teammate. When he’d met Robin.

Robin was funny, and brilliant, and badass. And thirteen.

He’d glanced at Nightwing – his friend, Robin’s brother. He looked back at Robin, who was staring right back at him. He said nothing. Robin hadn’t said anything either.

But when their mission was over, when they were back at the tower, when Roy had gotten a name beyond the costume… _Jason_ had talked. Not about anything in particular, at first. They’d all been there, chilling in one of the common rooms, and Jason had joined in the conversation without much hesitation, cracking jokes and telling stories like he’d always been one of them. But his eyes kept straying to Roy, and Roy found himself looking back just as often. Unable to deal with it, he’d excused himself to the balcony _for some fresh air_. The Titans had looked at him or at the wall behind him. They all knew he was going out to smoke. He didn’t know why he kept pretending.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there when the door opened behind him. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t surprised to see Jason. He _was_ surprised when Jason had pulled out a cigarette of his own, but after a moment the surprise passed.

“ _I know you’ve noticed_ ,” Jason had said, voice not quite accusing, but almost. Roy didn’t look at him when he nodded.

“ _You think I’m a kid_ ,” it wasn’t a question, but it held a lot of anger. Roy let a long trail of smoke pass his lips before replying, _“I respect you. Don’t doubt that. But you’re right. Teen or no, we’re not… you’re too young right now. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t_ know _you for another few years, at least.”_

“ _Destiny is a motherfucker,”_ Jason had complained, _“I’ve waited all these years, and now you’re telling me I have to wait more?”_

“ _I’ve waited longer than you,”_ he shrugged, _“If it helps… I think you’ll be worth the wait.”_

Jason had been quiet after that, and when Roy glanced sideways at him the kid was blushing. Roy wasn’t sure if he was happy or freaked out by that. Probably both.

After Jason had gone back to Gotham with Dick, Roy had wondered how difficult it would be to avoid him until he reached an age where they would at last be at similar levels of maturity. He wondered how long he could keep the secret from Dick, unsure how it would affect their friendship.

He saw Robin in passing four more times in the next year and a half. They’d shared another moment on a balcony, smoke swirling around them. They’d spoken of the fight they’d just won, Roy had ranted a bit, about Ollie, and Jason had done the same about Bruce. Neither of them had brought up the one topic that was on both their minds. Not until the very end, when Jason had stamped on the remains of his third cigarette and growled, “ _This is so fucking stupid.”_

Roy had known what he meant, so he’d said, “ _Yeah. It is.”_

“ _Then fuck it,”_ Jason had suggested, but Roy shook his head, “ _I’m not gonna_ _mess this shit up just because we’re both lonely. You’re worth more than that.”_

Jason had pouted, and it had been cute, and Roy had felt vaguely nauseous, the cigarette in his mouth tasting as disgusting as it had the first time he’d picked one up. He’d sworn there wouldn’t be another meeting between them after that. Not for at least four more years, six if he could manage. It would make things weird, later, and he couldn’t let that happen. The Jason that Roy was destined to love needed to be evolved, discovered, _forged_ by this Jason, and it needed to happen without Roy’s interference. So as he departed that time, he’d sworn they wouldn’t meet again.

Turns out, he hadn’t needed to swear anything.

Roy had been in the middle of a fight when the blood staining his fingers suddenly faded. He could still see it, the _red_ , but it was _less_ somehow. Dull.

His heart had stopped in his chest.

He’d let out a howl of pain for wounds that weren’t his, ripping into the assholes he was fighting with an anger Ollie had called _feral_ . When Dick had called him, a few days later, in tears, Roy had managed to sound passably surprised and slightly too understanding . Dick hadn’t said much, but _Joker – Crowbar – Bomb_ was more than enough to paint a picture more vivid than Roy could handle sober. He hadn’t been invited to the funeral. _Why would he have been?_ He asked the bottom of a bottle of whiskey he stole from Ollie. It didn’t answer, but he didn’t need it to. No one had known but them. No one ever would, if he didn’t say anything. He didn’t particularly want to say anything.

He stopped trying to stop himself.

Whiskey and weed had long since joined the beer and cigarettes he’d started with. Now, though, now that there was no reason not to, Roy tried anything he could get his hands on. Anything that might make him feel something besides numbness or pain.

Shrooms, the lead guitarist for Great Frog had promised him, were a great time. They weren’t. They just made him think about Jason. What would Jason have been like, if he’d gotten to finish growing up? If he’d gotten to live long enough to see Roy again? Roy didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t touch shrooms again.

Acid came next. Acid was, as it said on the tin, a trip. At least, the first time. The high of LSD took him to levels he had never imagined he could feel, at least not since he’d lost the beauty of red. In the hallucinations that followed, his mind conjured up the brightness he had lost. But the second time he took it, the world turned dark in ways he hadn’t previously been able to fathom, either.

After that, he’d found heroin, and it was with heroin that he stayed. He kept smoking and drinking, but they did little more than calm his nerves enough to find his veins. Heroin took him all over the place. It started out amazing, a euphoria that, unlike acid, hit him every time. It always ended in shit, in the nightmarish feeling of fire followed by a swarm of ants crawling in his veins, trying to get out. There was only one way to get rid of them, only one way to find joy again. His brain had long since forgotten how to feel happy on its own. What did he have to be happy about, anyway? What did he have to look forward to? While his friends and peers found their soulmates, took them home to meet parents who were there, what did Roy have left? Everything, _everyone_ he loved had been taken from him, by their choice or by force.

So Roy stopped trying to hide, too.

Destiny is a motherfucker, Jason had said. It would take Roy years to realize how very true that was, to curse Destiny for putting something so easy at the end of such a long and difficult road. But when he did realize it, he would would say that that was the moment Destiny had once again begun to interfere: the moment he had stopped trying to hide.

It had taken a month, since he had stopped bothering to worry about slipping up. But at last, Ollie had walked in on him shooting up. Or trying to. The whiskey hadn’t done the trick to steady his hands this time. Maybe he needed more. But there hadn’t been more there.

He was so far gone at that point, he didn’t remember much of what had happened. He remembered Ollie’s face, twisted with rage and disgust. He remembered shouting. But the only words he remembered were _how will your soulmate feel, when they find you’ve destroyed yourself?_ Roy had snarled, then, the first he had ever told anyone. He hadn’t said who, only _it doesn’t matter because they’re fucking dead!_ And then he had run out, the door slamming behind him, unwilling to wait to hear whatever Ollie might say in return.

Ollie never followed, and Roy never went back.

When he’d stopped, he realized he had left the heroin behind. His fingers trembled, and he almost turned around, but he figured Ollie would have gotten rid of it anyway. It wasn’t worth the risk. He could find more elsewhere. While he thought about how to procure more, his mind managed to clear more than it had in some time. He realized, for the first time, that he wasn’t tied to Star City anymore. He was twenty-two, he could go where he pleased.

There was only one place he could think of to go.

Four days later, Roy knelt by Jason’s grave. Painfully sober, he let everything he had repressed from that first realization crash over him. He collapsed in a heap of tears and tremors, fingers digging into dirt that seemed a little too loose, but in the desperation of his withdrawal, he couldn’t figure out why that seemed wrong. After a few hours, he collected himself and made his way to the worst parts of Gotham. Jason had grown up here, he knew. Dick had told him. Had explained that the mother who raised him had died there, of a drug overdose.

Perversely, Roy wondered if he was about to do the same.

An hour after the needle pierced his skin again, Roy was in an old alleyway near one of the main entrances to the sewers, screaming at Killer Croc to just kill him already.

For some god-forsaken reason, he didn’t. The villain with _killer_ right there in his name (okay, he wasn’t the only one, but still ) refused, flat out, to kill him. Roy felt like screaming ( ~~he felt like dying~~ ).

Killer Croc held him, not quite comforting, but a comfortable enough hold where he couldn’t break free to do anything silly like to try to end it himself. He held him and said, “I’m not going to help you commit suicide, Arsenal. I’m Waylon. I think you need help, and I think I know some people who might be able to provide that help.”

Roy hadn’t believed him, but two years later, there he was. He had returned to Gotham specially for this moment. One year of sobriety, and Waylon – who had ended up being his sponsor – wanted to celebrate. And who was Roy to pass up a good party? So he’d made his way back to Gotham, something he’d only done a few times since.

He stopped at Jason’s grave first, as usual. He hated it, would have preferred to visit somewhere Jason had been _alive_ , somewhere that had meant something to _him_ , but he didn’t get to know any of those places. Visiting the grave always made him feel hollow, wrong, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He knew Bruce left flowers. He knew Dick left books (which, really, Roy thought, wasn’t thought through well at _all_. Jason would be pissed if he knew how many books had been left in the rain on his grave. At least given the one time Roy had gotten to hear Jason rant about his love of literature). He knew the new kid, whoever he was, left photos of various things, mostly nice views of the city or funny things Dick had done.

Roy also knew that none of them had figured out his own secret, which sometimes surprised him. Because he left something, too. He left cigarettes. He figured it would piss off the Bat, who was very anti-smoking, and Batman was supposed to be the world’s greatest detective. But he’d never gotten an angry visit from either Batman or Dick, so he figured they must not have known. Maybe they thought it was litter.

This time, though, as he knelt by the grave, laying the new pack of cigarettes just off to the side of the motherfucking obelisk Bruce had put up, something felt different. It felt like he was being watched.

Fuck.

He just wanted to get to his party with Waylon and whoever Waylon had decided to invite. He did _not_ want to have a conversation that was nearly five years too late with the fucking bats.

Falling back into old instincts and habits, Roy casually stood from the grave, making his way from the cemetery and around a corner before doubling back and climbing one of the gnarled oak trees that loomed over the graves. For a moment, he saw nothing, and then a figure that was barely more than a shadow approached Jason’s grave. They looked too big to be Dick, _way_ too big to be the new kid. Whoever this was was much closer to the size of Batman, except Batman didn’t go out in the day and _Brucie Wayne_ couldn’t be caught looking so suspicious.

And then Roy’s frowned deepened and he was glad for years of training allowing him to keep his balance as the figure _picked up the cigarettes_ and started _smoking one_. What the fuck? What in the goddamned fuck? Was this the world’s lowest-key grave robber? Roy silently dropped out of the tree, moving to approach, but when he was about forty feet back, he stepped on a twig. The crack of the breaking wood echoed around the empty cemetery and in a blink the figure had disappeared into the shadows.

Twice more on the way to Waylon’s, Roy felt eyes on him. Both times, he lingered, took detours, did whatever he could to shake his mysterious stalker. Either he succeeded, or they’d gotten bored, because the feeling was gone before he finally dropped in on Waylon’s favorite haunt.

“You’re late, kid,” the man grinned, all teeth. Roy lifted his cap to run a hand through the hair he’d decided to let grow out to his shoulders, “Had to shake a shadow.”

“You okay?” Waylon’s demeanor immediately shifted, eyes darting to the entrance behind Roy. Roy nodded, “Didn’t find ‘em, but I think I lost ‘em. So, who’s all invited to this shindig?”

Waylon gestured for Roy to follow him deeper into the maze of abandoned sewers he had turned into a surprisingly lovely home. Grates covered the remains of anything unsavory on the ground, while the tunnels were adorned with dim lights. Roy could even smell an almost pleasant mixture of herbs and flowers, and he raised an eyebrow at Waylon as he pointed to one of what had to be at _least_ thirty essential oil diffusers. Waylon laughed, a sound which had terrified Roy the first twenty or so times he’d heard it, until he’d really started getting to know the guy.

“Those are from Marlene,” Waylon explained, “She owns a food cart and always saves the leftovers for me. She’s very sweet, but a bit gullible. She fell for one of those pyramid schemes and ended up with boxes of the stuff. I figured I’d help her out, and it really does make the place better for company.”

Roy grinned, “Can’t argue there, although nothing puts a guy off a craving quite like the aroma of raw sewage.”

Waylon clapped him on the back, and Roy had to pause to make sure he wasn’t about to tip forward.

“So I figured this could be a small get-together,” Waylon said as they approached one of the more open areas, “A couple of the guys from the group and the sirens.”

Roy raised an eyebrow at that, “They cool with me?”

“You gonna try to arrest ‘em?”

“Nope.”

“Then they’re cool,” Waylon shrugged, “I’ve known Selina and Pam for awhile now, and they both vouch for Harley these days. I’ll vouch for them now.”

“If you say they’re cool, they’re cool,” Roy agreed, wondering when he had begun to trust Killer Croc more than any hero.

“Although,” Waylon hedged, and Roy looked up again, “If Harley offers you cupcakes, they’re almost definitely rigged.”

“With an explosive?”

“Does your definition of an explosive include edible glitter bombs?”

“I – I’m not sure,” Roy blinked. Then he smiled widely again. This was shaping up to be the most fun fully sober party he’d attended.

It really was. He gladly let a cupcake shower him with glitter ( _red_ , his heart stuttered, but he shook the thought away). Selina gave him a warm hug he wasn’t expected (when was the last time he’d been hugged at all?). Poison Ivy seemed less than impressed with him, but warmed slightly when he mentioned he’d walked past the botanical gardens on his way there and complimented the red yarrow he’d spotted. The four others from Roy’s support group who had been invited were pretty good company, too, although Roy already knew that from the prior get-togethers they’d held. One of them was even interested in archery, although only as a hobby. Roy didn’t mind chatting about the basics, though. Few enough people wanted to talk to him at all. Roy was also impressed that none of them seemed fazed by the presence of four fairly major villains, but then, they already knew Waylon, so maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising.

And then, as the party was dwindling – the four civilians had departed, and the sirens were heading out – an alarm blared from the entrance of the sewers.

“Shit,” Waylon growled, glancing at the others, “Harper, follow the tunnel down that way, it’ll get you out behind where you started, behind whoever’s down here.”

“I can fight, Waylon,” Roy began to argue, but Waylon just shook his head, “Nobody knows you’re here. You don’t need to be affiliated with us. You still have friends in the hero community.”

Roy scoffed, “Do I?”

“Well, you don’t have enemies, at any rate,” Waylon leveled a look at him, “Now get the fuck outta here. Girls, your choice.”

“Hmm,” Ivy glanced at the other two, “Well, an early night might be nice, but I wouldn’t say no to tangling with a bat.”

Roy didn’t stick around to hear the rest of their debate. He respected Waylon enough to do as he said in his own home. He followed the winding tunnel until he came to a ladder. He climbed, wondering how high it would take him, and found himself in an alley not far from where he’d come in. He could hear the fight and knew the girls had decided to stick around for the fun. Roy kind of wished he had done the same; he could use something to punch right about now.

It was by chance alone (or destiny) that Roy happened to glance up at that moment, right as a shadow flew from the building on his left to the building on his right. A shadow laced with red that Batman didn’t have. A shadow that reminded Roy an awful lot of the one from the cemetery. Overcome by curiosity, Roy began to climb the fire escape of the building on his right.

At the top, he crouched behind some sort of industrial structure, eyes scanning for the figure. He wasn’t hard to spot, standing in plain sight at the edge of the rooftop. Looming like a bat, he peered down at the fight beneath him. And then he reached up, Roy heard a faint _snick_ , and removed what was apparently a helmet. _Red_ Roy noted unhelpfully.

Then the figure pulled out a very familiar pack of cigarettes and began to smoke again.

Roy had had enough. He crept out of the shadows, standing a distance from the man but easily spotted if the man turned around.

“Sure those belong to you?” he called out softly, not wanting to alert the combatants below. The man tensed, turning slowly. There was a light streak in his dark hair, and he had a strong jaw, but most of his face was obscured by a secondary mask that he evidently wore beneath his helmet for moments such as these. Roy cursed his own lack of costume.

They stared at each other for a few moments, before the man’s lips quirked up in a smirk Roy could only describe as _pretty_. He took another drag of the cigarette before dropping it and putting it out below his boot.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” he said, and Roy felt something strange shift in him at the deep and smooth voice, with just a hint of smoke-induced gravel. Something not quite comfortable but not upsetting and very _very_ exhilarating.

“Who are you?” he asked, unable to recognize the guy. For some reason that caused him to falter, and in the moment it took for him to reply, his smirk had twisted into something so bitter it would have made a lesser face ugly.

“Red Hood,” he said shortly, then angrily put his helmet back on and headed towards a different edge of the building. In the seconds between this and him leaping off one of the sides, free falling for a moment before latching onto a building that would lead him away from both Roy and the battle, Roy’s mind informed him that _somehow_ the red of the helmet had gotten brighter. As bright as the first red he had ever seen.

Roy felt like the building beneath him was swaying, though he knew it was just himself.

How could his red have gotten brighter? What did it mean? What –

He never got to complete that question, because what happened next rocked his worldview so much he had to collapse onto the roof he occupied.

A vine from the battle below shot up into the sky, slamming against the roof before flinging itself back onto the heroes below.

A vine that, Roy would later learn when he desperately took one of those _what color can I see?_ quizzes, was _green_ . Not only had Roy regained _red…_ he’d also gotten _green?_ He couldn’t fathom what he was seeing, but now that he _could_ see it, he saw green everywhere. In frantic confusion, he dug through online databases and public libraries and any source of information he could get his hands on, but it was all in vain. No record existed of people with dead soulmates finding another. No record existed of people gaining their faded colors back. Instead, everything said things that just pissed him off.

_Destiny knew what it was doing._

_Soulmates didn’t die at the wrong time. People didn’t lose their soulmate until they’d reached a point where they could handle it. Usually in old age._

_Destiny didn’t make mistakes._

What a load of shit.

Well, there was only one way to find out more about the _green,_ Roy supposed. It took him another month of scouring Gotham, but at last he managed to track down Red Hood again. This time he approached as Arsenal.

“What do you want?” Red Hood asked without turning around from his position at the edge of another, taller roof. He had his helmet on this time, but there was an unlit cigarette spinning around his gloved fingers.

Arsenal leaned back against the roof access door, placing himself a few paces behind and to the right of Red Hood.

“You don’t know?”

Red Hood turned to look at him, then, or as much as he could with those blank metal eyes.

“I really don’t.”

The words were distorted by the helmet, but somehow Roy knew they were honest. Huh. Either the guy hadn’t gotten a color of his own from meeting Roy, or he didn’t understand why Roy would care.

Well.

Far be it from Roy to make a fool of himself by begging some possibly villainous stranger to love his fucked up broken self.

“You intrigue me,” he tried instead, “I’ve learned some interesting things about you these last few weeks.”

"Yeah? Like what?”

“You didn’t exist until a few months ago. Appeared out of the shadows, they say. You’ve plowed through the scum of Gotham like it was nothing. You attacked the new Robin and got away.”

“Does that surprise you?” Red Hood asked with a dry laugh, “I thought it was the usual fate of Robin’s attackers.”

Roy felt vaguely sick, so he started itching the scars on his arm. The helmet shifted slightly, and Roy couldn’t help but think Red Hood was staring at his scars. A silence fell across them that made Roy shift uncomfortably and scratch a bit harder.

Finally, Red Hood shifted again, and bit out, “So. You found out about my dastardly deeds. Gonna take me in?”

Roy raised an eyebrow, although he doubted it could be seen in the shadow of his hat brim, “You have killed a lot of people.”

“I sure fucking have,” Red Hood agreed, almost conversationally.

“I looked _them_ up, too,” Roy mimicked the casual tone, “Seemed like they were all pretty shitty.”

“They were,” Red Hood agreed again, although somehow he sounded less certain. Not about his words, but about _Roy’s_.

“Not sure I’m too sad to see them go,” Roy admitted. Red Hood’s helmet moved up a little at that, and Roy imagined him looking surprised.

“Yeah?”

Roy shrugged easily, “Yeah.”

They were silent for awhile longer, but it was less oppressive this time. After a time, Red Hood held out the cigarette that was still in his hand, “Wanna smoke?”

Roy glanced at it, a longing tugging at his mind which he ignored, and shook his head, “My sponsor would kill me. Literally.”

Roy was pretty sure Red Hood was looking at his scars again, and he fought back the urge to hide his arms behind his back. He didn’t know if Red Hood somehow was a second soulmate, but he wasn’t going to lie to the guy if he was.

“Ah,” the uncertainty made the voice modulation almost funny, “Want to, um… want to get a milkshake?”

Roy snorted in surprise, and Red Hood immediately got defensive, but before he could step back to the edge of the building and make his escape, Roy quickly said, “Sure.”

Red Hood paused, then tilted his head, “Really?”

“Yeah, man,” Roy shrugged again, “You seem… cool.”

“Not many heroes want to hang out with a cold-blooded killer,” Red Hood pointed out, “None, actually.”

“Yeah, well, not many heroes want to hang out with a depressed ex-junkie with shaky morals, either,” Roy shot back, “Not sure I count enough to bump your count up to one, these days.”

“You’re not a hero?” Red Hood asked, sound genuinely confused. Roy wiggled his hand in a kinda-sorta gesture, “I like to think I work for good, but it’s not like I’m the kind of law-abiding citizen most heroes respect or care about.”

“Heroes are such bullshit,” Red Hood said, and something about the way he said it rang a bell in the back of Roy’s mind. There was something familiar about him, Roy just couldn’t quite place it.

They headed off the roof, Red Hood leading them to a place he swore had the best milkshakes in Gotham. They were pretty good, Roy admitted, although better yet was the fact that Red Hood had to remove his helmet to eat, allowing Roy a better opportunity to admire the strong bone structure that gave him a profile worthy of Hollywood. Unable to help himself, he said as much.

Red Hood openly laughed, and his laugh made Roy feel like he was falling (or flying).

“Are you saying I look ugly from the front?” he asked, and Roy frowned, “Why would I be saying that?”

“Classic Hollywood profiles often had bird of prey syndrome,” Red Hood said matter-of-factly, “Take Laurence Olivier. Smoking hot from the side, but from the front? He looked like a potato.”

Roy snorted a laugh of his own at that, feeling happier and more relaxed than he had in awhile. He didn’t know what he’d expected from confronting Red Hood, but a harsh critique of Laurence Olivier’s hotness was definitely not it.

After they’d finished their milkshakes, they began wandering the darker streets of Gotham. Red Hood stopped a few times to speak with people they passed – prostitutes and homeless people, mostly. He stopped for every kid, and once for a kitten that looked to be on the verge of death. He paused when it was in his arms, dwarfed by his sheer size, and he looked at Roy a little helplessly.

“Hey, Arsenal? You don’t happen to know where Catwoman prowls these days, do you?”

Roy shook his head, but said, “I know someone who does, though, let’s go.”

Red Hood looked nervous when Roy led him into the sewers, but he said nothing.

“Waylon?” Roy called out, “You home? I got a guest, don’t bite.”

From the shadows, he heard the clicking of Waylon’s massive teeth and then the rumbling voice, “He moves like a bat.”

“I’m not a fucking bat,” Red Hood spat like it was a curse. Roy jumped in before tensions could escalate, “We’re not hear to stay, we just needed to get something to Selina and we’ll be on our way. You can contact her, right?”

“Sure,” Waylon said cautiously, still not leaving the protection of the shadows.

“C’mon, Hood, Waylon’ll take good care of the little fella until Selina can swing by and pick him up.”

“You sure?” Red Hood looked at him with what, Roy imagined, was trepidation.

At last Waylon stepped forward, eyes on the shivering kitten. He answered for himself, “I’m not gonna eat the poor thing, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Not like there’s any meat on its bones anyways,” he grinned one of his most terrifying smiles, “Not like you.”

Roy rolled his eyes, “Stop being so dramatic, Waylon, just take the damn kitten.”

“You’re absolutely no fun, Arsenal,” Waylon grumbled, reaching out all the same and taking the kitten with great care, “He’ll be with Selina before daybreak.”

“Thanks, man,” Roy told him, putting a hand on Red Hood’s shoulder to steer him towards the exit. The man jumped under his touch, and Roy reluctantly pulled back. Red Hood kept staring at him all the way back to the surface.

“What?” He finally asked. Hood shrugged, “You’re friends with Killer Croc?”

“Yeah,” Roy said, nails reaching for his arm again, “Didn’t really expect that, to be honest. It’s good to have a good surprise for once, instead of yet another shitty one.”

“Yeah,” Red Hood agreed. And then they spotted some mob goons threatening a girl and the conversation was over.

They worked well together, Roy thought absently as he crouched on a fire escape taking out one goon after another. Red Hood had all but launched him up two stories after no more than a shared glance, before he strolled into the fight with a gun in each hand. When he’d gotten closer, he’d started incorporating his knees and elbows into his fighting style, but he didn’t holster the guns, having no issue shooting men point blank in the shoulders or knees. Roy also noticed that the only one to put his hands on the girl was the only one who ended up with a bullet in his _head_.

After that night, he and Red Hood teamed up more. The next few months passed as close to _happy_ as they could for Roy, who still hadn’t found the courage to tell his new friend about his second color. Somehow, as their conversations grew more meaningful and Roy felt himself begin to fall for Hood, somehow it became even harder to bring up. He made himself be content with what they had, fighting side by side and celebrating with milkshakes or movies afterward. They didn’t find each other every night – hell, Roy tried not to go out every night, still skating by somehow without a visit from the Bat demanding why he was in his city. Roy _had_ managed to cobble together a device that more or less let him listen in on the bats’ comms, but only in the field and only if they were close enough. It helped him avoid notice, at least.

It also told him where to go when he’d started to get worried after a solid week of radio silence from Red Hood.

“ _B,”_ a voice that Roy could easily recognize as Dick’s came over the comms. He sounded scared, and it was that which caught Roy’s attention, _“B, Hood is going after the Joker_.”

Arsenal was out the door of his safe house in record time. It didn't matter if Red Hood wasn't his soulmate. It didn't matter if Red Hood didn't _want_ to be his soulmate. Roy was not going to lose another person he cared about to the Joker.

It wasn't hard to follow Batman once Roy had the signal, so he slipped into the warehouse from a side entrance, hidden well behind some crates where he had a good vantage point if his arrows were needed.

What he saw shocked him. Red Hood had Joker tied to a chair and was standing behind it, gun in hand. He watched as Batman approached, as far as Red Hood let him. At his feet was another gun.

"Kill me, or I'll kill him."

Roy's blood ran cold at those words, but Batman didn't react.

"Why are you doing this, Hood?"

Red Hood just laughed, madly, before choking on the sound of it, "Don't pretend like you don't know. I know you've figured out who I am."

"Knowing who you are doesn't explain why you're doing this."

"Doesn't it?" Red Hood snarled, tearing the helmet off, followed quickly by the mask. Roy had little time to admire the rest of the man's now visible face before he shouted something that made no sense and explained everything.

"Look at me! Look at your _son_!" He mocked, "That's what you claimed, but it isn't true, is it? You never gave a _fuck_ about me, not then and certainly not now."

"Jason," Batman ground out, and it was all Roy could do to keep paying attention when that was Jason standing there, his soulmate, _alive_.

"Jason, you know that's not true."

"Oh I do, do I? Seems pretty true from where I'm standing, you know, behind the _very_ alive man who _murdered_ _me_."

Roy blinked. Somehow, in the brief moment he’d had to process, he'd thought Jason's death must've just been faked. But then, his color wouldn't have faded. Jason really must have died, and then somehow returned, and with a new color to boot.

"Jason," Batman said again, but Red Hood cut him off, " _No!_ I've had enough of your lies, you heartless bastard. You have until the count of three to kill me, or I'll put a bullet in his fucking head."

Roy choked, reminded of his own first encounter with Waylon. Surely Batman would take a similar approach. Batman deserved the chance to right this wrong.

"Three," Jason said, and Roy's body tensed.

"Two," he held his breath, waiting for Batman – for _Bruce_ – to do _something_.

"One," Jason said, and there was a glint of light from something in the air, but no shot rang out and Roy watched in horror as a batarang embedded in a crate nearby. His eyes snapped to Jason and all he could see was red, _red_ forming a thin line across his throat, more _red_ seeping out and for once Roy thought there was no color he'd rather see less.

And then Joker detonated a bomb and the building came down around them. Roy saw Joker slip away and wanted to follow, to do the one thing Jason had asked for, but he could always kill him later. Jason needed him now.

Roy pulled Jason's body from the rubble, getting him as far as he dared, hopefully far enough that the bats wouldn't find them. He ignored the red pouring over his hands as he held his soulmate’s throat together, stitching and bandaging it with painfully detached efficiency. When he was fairly certain Jason wouldn't bleed out in his lap, that he wouldn't lose him _again_ , Roy carefully picked him up. Jason was bigger than him, but if Roy beat him in one area it was sheer arm strength. He carried him without much issue to his safe house, thankfully not on the other side of Gotham.

It took nearly two days before he was sure Jason would recover. He had woken up twice, delirious both times, but Roy had managed to get water in him. He picked up iron from a store nearby, and a bag full of canned soup. He’d seen enough injuries and recoveries that he knew when Jason had reached the point of safety. The next time he woke up, he’d be alright. He’d still need time to heal, but he’d be alright. Roy arranged bottles of water, iron, soup, and bandages where they would be easily visible and reachable by Jason if he woke up.

He wasn’t sure if he should leave a note. Well, he knew he should, but he didn’t know what he could say that would reassure Jason. Finally, he scrawled out, _Be back soon! Stay safe until then, x_

Setting his favorite hat beside the bed, right where Jason would look when he woke up, he laid the note on the brim.

He filled his quiver with primarily lethal arrows, adjusted his second favorite hat, and slipped out the window. One stop, and then he would end things for good, do the thing Jason needed to believe he was loved.

“I’m going to kill the Joker,” he said the moment he stepped into the sewers. Waylon materialized from the shadows, glowering down at him, “Seriously, Roy? I thought you’d gotten past this.”

Roy glared back at his friend, “That’s not why I’m doing it.”

“No?”

“No. He,” Roy breathed deeply, sitting on one of the beat up couch cushions Waylon had scrounged up, “He killed my soulmate.”

Waylon promptly sat down across from him.

“You told me, when we first met, that your soulmate had already been dead for two years.”

“Yes.”

“Why now?”

“Because he’s not dead anymore.”

Waylon blinked, pulling back slightly.

“Is that really the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard?” Roy asked with a slightly hysterical laugh. He hadn’t said it aloud before.

“No,” Waylon responded, then, “It’s Hood, isn’t it?”

Roy just nodded.

“Did he ask you to?” Waylon asked eventually. Roy looked up at him, “No. But he asked someone else, someone who _should_ have – it doesn’t matter. What matters is he didn’t, and J – Hood was willing to _die_ because of it. So if no one else is willing to do it for him, I’m damn well gonna. He needs to know that one person, at least, loves him.”

Waylon was silent for awhile, before he said, “I’m surprised it’s taken this long for someone to go after that fucker.”

“Me too,” Roy agreed.

“You want me to check up on him, if something happens,” Waylon wasn’t asking, not really. Roy nodded anyways, “I told him I’d be back soon, but… anything could happen. He – the guy who should have done it – he slit Hood’s throat. I’ve made sure he’s stable, but if something goes wrong, I need to know he’ll have someone looking out for him.”

“I can do that,” Waylon promised, “You have my word.”

“Thank you,” Roy said earnestly, “You’re a good friend.”

“So are you.”

With those parting words, Roy set out to do what might be the most dangerous thing in his life, and he had once tried to commit suicide via Croc.

For that very reason, Roy was both surprised and unnerved at how easy it had seemed. He hadn’t had an issue tracking the Joker to yet another old warehouse where he was rounding up some goons who would be installing bombs in various locations across the city. Or they were going to, had their limbs not suddenly locked when a few tiny roybots snuck up and injected them with a paralyzing agent. There was only one man Roy intended to kill that night, and he had no interest in fending off others in the process.

Before Joker had even processed the collapse of his minions, there were two completely normal, metal-tipped arrows pinning him down. One went through his right hand, jammed back into the crate behind him. The other cut through his shoulder but mostly just pinned his jacket. Idly, Roy noticed that the Joker’s hair was a very bright green. He wondered if that was why he had seen green the second time around, if it was even a part of the reason, and felt ill.

Arsenal stepped from the shadows, bow in hand. The arrow he nocked wasn’t as normal as the other two. No, this one was explosive.

The Joker cackled as he strode forward, until there was only ten feet between them.

“Going to kill little old me?” he asked in that disgusting voice of his, “Why? What has uncle J ever done to you?”

Roy liked talking. He liked talking a lot. He could talk for hours without getting tired, or so Ollie used to tell him.

Roy had absolutely nothing to say to the Joker.

He released the arrow, watching as it buried between the Joker’s eyes, watching the light fade from their shocked expression as the _red_ light on the end blinked a few times before the Joker’s head exploded.

Satisfied, Roy scooped up the little roybots. He knew they had filmed the altercation, had programmed them to do so, in case Jason wanted to see it with his own eyes. Roy would have, in his place.

The satisfaction was tainted, however, with his unease at how _easy_ the whole thing had been.

Sure enough, about ten buildings away from the warehouse, a shadow fell over him. Roy’s heart missed a beat in fear, and he carefully dropped the roybots in a nearby sewer grate. Waylon would recognize them, he knew, even if he didn’t know how to use them.

“ _Arsenal_ ,” The voice of the Batman had only gotten more terrifying since the last time Roy had heard it.

“Hey, Batman,” he gave what he knew was a very weak grin, “What’s up?”

“You’re trespassing in my city,” Batman growled.

“Am I?” Roy asked with fake bewilderment, “Shit, sorry! I’ll be outta your hair tomorrow, just gotta collect my stuff and grab a train ticket, you know!”

Batman dropped to the ground in front of him, blocking his path.

“Batman?”

“You have committed a murder. In my city. You will not be leaving.”

Roy swallowed. The act was a dud and they both knew it.

“Pretty sure it only counts as murder if you kill a _person_. The thing I killed was a monster and you know it.”

“You sound just like them,” Batman scowled.

“Like who?”

“Most villains.”

Roy snorted in disbelief.

“Are you going to surrender, or will I be forced to take you out?”

Roy raised an eyebrow at the Bat. He weighed his options. Either way, he was almost certainly gonna end the night in a cell. He could either be conscious on the way there, or he could try and land a hit on the Batman himself.

He thought about the _green_ of the Joker’s hair.

He thought about the _red_ that had covered his hands as he’d sewed Jason’s throat back together.

He thought about the _black_ of the batarang that had made the cut.

Roy decked him.

The next thing he knew, he was blinking his eyes open to find himself trussed up in the back of a transport van. He was alone, although he could hear voices from what he guessed was the front of the van. Nothing about his surroundings gave him any hope of escape. Then he heard movement behind him.

"Roy," the voice was soft, but Roy didn’t want to hear it. He turned anyway, meeting the sad and confused eyes of the man who was once his best friend.

"Dick."

"Why?" Dick asked, practically begged, "Why would you kill? I thought you were getting back into the hero business."

Roy snorted, but Dick's earnest confusion didn't change. He sighed, then answered, "You know, I've read nearly two hundred articles on the subject. Not once, in all my research, did I find another case of someone's color coming back after it faded."

Dick frowned, brows furrowing in confusion. Roy didn't offer any more. He just waited. All the bats were detectives, let him figure it out. Sure enough, it didn't take long for Dick's eyes to widen, dawning understanding visible in their depths. Roy saw him open his mouth to speak and had never been more grateful to feel Batman's shadow fall over them.

“Nightwing,” the Bat growled, “Go report in at the cave.”

“ _B_ ,” Nightwing tried to argue, but Batman had none of it, “Nightwing. I gave you an order.”

“You don’t control me, B,” Nightwing shot back, standing his ground. Batman slammed the back of the van shut and left Roy in total darkness. The shouting was muffled, but Roy still caught the gist of the argument. Batman, it seemed, had changed since the days when Dick and Roy had been running around as the most entertaining sidekick duo on the planet. Roy had been around during Bruce and Dick’s initial falling out. It hadn’t been pretty. He’d heard they’d gotten better, and clearly they were working together regularly, but it seemed like things weren’t quite as peachy as the grapevine suggested.

And then the van started moving, and the argument faded in the distance. Roy closed his eyes, since keeping them open wasn’t doing any good anyway. He wondered where he’d be taken. The GCPD? Probably. He wondered if Waylon would find out and manage to send someone to bail him out. The van kept going, though, longer than he thought it should have. And then he heard them cross over a bridge.

Weird. Were they leaving Gotham? That didn’t make any sense.

Eventually, the van slowed to a stop, and Roy braced himself for whatever level of light would flood in when the door was opened. His eagle eyes adjusted quickly, and he kind of wished they hadn’t. The wrought iron sign looming above him chilled his blood far more than the sharp wind that accosted him as he was dragged from the back of the van.

_Arkham Asylum_

No.

They couldn’t have.

_You sound just like them_.

What had happened to Batman?

The guards pulled Roy through the gates and into a building that looked like every asylum in every horror movie Roy had ever watched. He wished he’d watched a few less. The interior was a solid wall of gray, no varying shades, and Roy suspected it was because it really was gray. Bright white lights glared on him from the ceiling, causing pinpricks of pain behind his eyes. He couldn’t believe anyone thought this place would actually manage to reform villains. It was more likely to create villains than change them.

Actually, he mused, given where Harley Quinn had started, he was willing to bet Arkham legitimately had a negative reform rate. How was this place still standing?

He was dragged into a cold room and shackled to a chair. How lovely. A doctor came in and sat across from him. Not Hugo Strange, thank god that fucker was off the grid somewhere at the moment. Roy didn’t recognize this guy.

“Hello, Mr. Arsenal,” the doctor said calmly, and Roy sent him his most winning smile, “Yeah, doc?”

The doctor hummed neutrally at him and wrote something on a clipboard. Roy fucking hated this place.

“We will need to do a psychological evaluation, and then a full medical inspection so we can provide you with the best treatments on your path to success. How does that sound?”

“Sounds sus,” Roy said in the most friendly way he could muster. The doctor hummed again.

“We have been instructed by Batman, with the endorsement of Commissioner Gordon, not to remove your mask or seek your identity in any way. What makes you so special?”

Roy blinked at that news, “He must be embarrassed that I managed to give him a black eye. Wouldn’t want it to get out that _I_ could land a hit on the big bad bat, now would we?”

“I see,” the doctor made another note and Roy wanted to rip the clipboard from his hands, but he couldn’t because his hands were currently restrained. The psych eval was equally as annoying, and Roy was pretty sure the doctors hadn’t actually learned anything useful throughout. They’d learned that he wasn’t remorseful for killing the Joker, but to be honest, the doctor had looked a bit relieved and grateful when he’d brought that up anyway. The only really relevant thing they’d learned was that Roy had a history of depression and suicidal behavior, even though he’d only ever made the one attempt.

Roy braced himself for the physical exam, but then he felt a prick in his neck. He glanced down just in time to see the needle sink into his neck and think _fuck_ before his eyes rolled back in his head and he didn’t think anything anymore.

He woke up in a dimly lit cell with a pounding in his head that felt like a shitty hangover. It took him a minute to remember where he was, but when he did, he felt the ice in his veins again. He glanced around the room and felt even worse; the walls were covered in _very_ familiar graffiti. Was this… the _Joker’s_ old cell?

It was a miracle he reached the metal basin that passed for a toilet before he threw up. The doctors had asked him about killing the Joker. They knew why he was there. And they chose to put him in this particular cell regardless. Possibly on purpose.

How had things gone so wrong? He hadn’t felt this terrible since the night he had first come to Gotham alone, four days sober and unleashing two years of repressed mourning. Even in the withdrawal periods that followed his suicide attempt, he’d had Waylon to rely on.

Fuck, Roy wanted something. Anything. Heroin, mostly, but he’d take a drink or a smoke.

He collapsed back against the wall facing the bars, arms wrapped around his knees as he thought about what to do next. He’d made plans for Jason, for Waylon, if something happened to him, but… somehow he’d managed to never think about what _he_ would do if that “something” wasn’t death.

“Hey.”

His head snapped up, listening to the voice that was clear yet kind of tinny. A bit like Jason with the helmet on, only not.

“Hey. Guy over there. Guy in the red.”

“Me?” he asked. He heard a snort, “Yeah, you. You ready to die?”

“What?” Roy asked, confused.

“He’s a possessive guy, the Joker. Won’t take kindly to your taking his cell like that.”

It was Roy’s turn to snort, “Joker ain’t gonna take kindly to anything anymore.”

There was a silence, and Roy added, “And he sure as fuck ain’t gonna kill me.”

“How are you so sure?” the voice sounded intelligent, like he might’ve guessed the truth. Roy told him anyway. That was supposed to be good in places like this, right? Showing off your “achievements”?

“How long have I been in here?”

“They brought you in a few hours ago.”

“Then I’m sure because a few hours before I got here, I watched the Joker’s head explode into a thousand mushy little pieces.”

The man on the other side made a weird mechanical sounding whistle.

“Damn, son. You looked like a kid, for the few seconds I saw them dragging you by.”

“I’m twenty-five,” Roy said, because what else could he say?

“Huh,” the guy said, “Feels like every year older and older people start looking younger and younger to me. Guess that’s age for you.”

Roy didn’t like the silence that followed. The talking helped him keep his mind off the graffiti that surrounded him, kept him from scouring it for mentions of _Robin_.

“You called me red,” he said to keep the conversation rolling, “Is red your color, or have you got all of ‘em?”

The man took a moment to reply before he said, “Purple was her color. I can see them all.”

“Oh,” Roy said, noticing the past tense, “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to watch color fade.”

“My colors haven’t faded,” the man countered, “Not yet. It’s why I keep trying. I can’t give up while there’s still a chance. Honestly, I hate the violence. But I can’t stop while there’s still hope.”

Roy could understand that.

“Who are you? I haven’t seen you here before. If you’re telling the truth about killing the Joker, people are going to want to know you.”

Roy wondered how he should reply, but he figured he was still in costume so he might as well use his real identity, “I’m Arsenal.”

“Arsenal?” the man replied, the mechanical quality of his voice intensifying, “Isn’t that a hero?”

He scoffed a laugh, “Not anymore, evidently. Killing in Gotham’ll do that for you. And punching Batman in the face. Not that I was much of a hero before that, either.”

“Hmm,” the man replied, “That’ll earn you some respect, at least. And you’re not Gotham based, so it’s unlikely anyone here has a grudge against you. Welcome to the gallery, then, kid.”

“Thanks,” he said, dryly, “Who are you, if you don’t mind returning the favor?”

“Oh,” the man laughed, “I guess I shouldn’t have expected you to know, being an out-of-towner and all. Mr. Freeze, at your service. You can call me Victor.”

“Nice to meet you, Victor,” Roy offered.

“Got another name yourself, Arsenal?”

“Not one I intend to hear uttered in this shithole,” Roy answered honestly, “Apparently I got one last favor from the Bats on the front, although I’m betting it’s more of a quid-pro-quo since I used to fly with Nightwing.”

“Probably shouldn’t go sharing that one,” Victor advised, “Some people would stop at nothing for those identities.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Roy admitted, though privately he didn’t really care. He could take the pain. It might even take his mind off the cravings, since he had no way to contact Waylon unless Croc got his own cell back.

“Well, it’s good to meet you, Arsenal,” Victor said, “I’m gonna catch whatever hours of sleep I can. I’d say do the same, but… I think most of us remember our first nights here pretty well. Gonna have to thank you for the peace, though. The Joker always had an unfortunate knack for laughing loudly in the middle of the night.”

“Can’t promise I won’t wake you screaming,” Roy said, knowing all too well how common his nightmares were, “But I wouldn’t do that kinda shit on purpose.”

“You wouldn’t be the only one,” Victor replied, and then he didn’t say anything else. Roy held his head in his hands and tried to block out the walls around him for the rest of the night. He managed to last without giving in to his urge to search for taunts about Jason’s death that he could completely believe the Joker would have written, but he didn’t quite stop himself from scratching the inside of his arm until it bled.

All the sleep he got that night came from being knocked out by Batman or drugged by the doctors.

In the morning, his cell door opened, alongside the others in the hallway. He noticed people hovering as he emerged from _Joker’s_ cell, whispering to each other or to themselves. He saw Victor – he knew what Mr. Freeze looked like, but it was different now that he’d met the guy. Victor gave him a brief nod, and Roy nodded back, walking where he was directed and purposefully ignoring the stares.

The cafeteria was… bleak, to say the least. Everything looked a white or light grey, and Roy didn’t know if there were supposed to colors there, but he was willing to bet not. Top tier villains apparently got first choice privileges, and however Roy had managed to end up among them, he was going to take that measly advantage. He accepted his sad styrofoam cup of lukewarm oatmeal and plastic spoon, claiming an empty table in the corner and taking the seat with the best vantage point in the room. He could see all the entrances as well as all the occupants from there.

Various villains, some he recognized and some he didn’t, filtered in. Most of them noticed him, and those that didn’t initially quickly glanced over when the rumors reached them. From his spot, he saw well in advance as a woman with brilliantly red hair and a green dress strolled over to him.

“Ivy,” he greeted as she sat down across from him. The whispering increased as Poison Ivy nodded back at him, “Arsenal.”

Roy didn’t know if she even liked him, much less what she wanted from him, so he waited for her to make the first move.

“Rumor has it, you’ve done me quite the favor,” Ivy said at last, “Any truth in it?”

“What favor is that?” Roy blinked.

“The Joker has been a thorn in my side ever since Harley realized I was her soulmate. Is the good news true?”

“It is,” Roy confirmed.

“And Batman won’t be able to bring him back this time?”

Roy blinked again. Replayed her words.

Roy saw red, and this time, it _was_ the rage kind.

“Batman won’t be able to _what?_ ” he asked, voice dangerously low. Pamela raised a perfect eyebrow, “You didn’t know about that? Couple years ago, they say, one of the baby bats killed him, and Batman had him revived.”

Roy’s grip on his spoon snapped it in half.

“The absolute _bastard_. Now I wished I’d punched him with an arrow.”

Ivy gave the faintest smile at that, “You know, when Waylon vouched for you, I thought he might have lost that reptilian mind of his. But I think I’ll concede this one. You seem alright.”

“Thanks,” Roy grinned back, “I’ll admit, I had similar thoughts when Waylon vouched for _you_. And Harley. I guess Waylon just has excellent judgment.”

“I guess so,” she managed to make the way she sat on those stupid plastic benches look elegant, and Roy found himself a little envious.

“How is Harley, by the way? I haven’t seen her since the anniversary party,” he asked. Ivy’s smile grew into something more solid at the mention of her soulmate, “She’s well. She was here last week.”

“This place really has a revolving door, huh?” Roy asked. Ivy shrugged, “Kinda, yeah. You can’t just stroll right out, if that’s what you’re hoping, but the more stays you have, the quicker it usually is to find a way out.”

“I need to get out,” he said, and she laughed, “Don’t we all?”

“I killed the Joker for a reason,” Roy said in a hushed voice, “And that _reason_ won’t believe he’s gone until I can get him the footage of the kill.”

“Oh?” Ivy looked mildly intrigued.

“Could you get a message to Waylon, at least?”

She frowned, then nodded, “I won’t even ask for something in return. The Joker being dead is worth far more than that.”

“Okay,” Roy nodded, “Okay. Tell him where I am, and tell him, uhh… tell him they’ve got USB capabilities and the password is the name of my soulmate.”

Ivy’s eyebrows went up again, clearly wanting to ask questions, but she nodded, “He’ll know by tonight.”

“Thank you,” Roy told her earnestly. Ivy shrugged, “Get used to villains owing you favors. A lot of us had beef with the Joker that we had plenty of time to sort out on our own. Just don’t expect everyone to be so friendly about it. I wouldn’t be if we hadn’t already met.”

Roy was deeply thankful for that; Ivy’s “friendliness” was scary enough.

The day passed strangely. Ivy seemed interested in knowing his opinions on things, seventeen different people had asked him to confirm if he’d really killed the Joker, and one _very_ ambitious low-tier villain had tried to go toe-to-toe with him over the fact that he’d “skipped the line” to join the big leagues. Roy had honestly enjoyed that confrontation, though.

“You’re stepping on a number of toes,” the no-namer had said, stepping hard on Roy’s foot to literally make his point, “Some of us work for our infamy. You think you can just swan in here and buddy up with the big names? Who died and made you so important?”

Somebody hadn’t been listening, Roy thought with a grin. He would always remember the guy’s face when Roy had said, “The Joker,” and then promptly laid him flat with a fist to the face.

He’d gone to a group therapy session that he soon understood was for _unrepentant killers,_ specifically of the _I was justified_ variety. Ivy was there, too, alongside the Riddler and a few people Roy didn’t recognize. It was dull as hell, at least until Pamela had gotten bored and decided to spice things up by starting up what Roy quickly understood to be a favorite game of group therapy sessions: who can get the biggest reaction from the therapist for graphic depictions of violence.

He knew they were also trying to get a reaction from _him_ , too, being the new kid on the (cell) block. After Ivy had taken her second turn describing the way she had used the root of a monocot to impale a man straight through the heart and out his back, Riddler turned to him with a smirk and asked, “Well, Arsenal? What am I to another that another is to me?”

“You?” Roy guessed, and the man grinned, “Right in one, good man. It’s your turn to share.”

Roy grinned right back, taking a leaf out of Croc’s book and showing as many teeth as he could, “Well, I can’t say I have quite the quantity of stories that you all have, but I hope the quality of the one I can tell makes up for it. I have to say, I was a little surprised at the sound brains make when they hit concrete at high velocity.”

He almost felt bad for the poor therapist as he continued his story, adding in far more details than he had had time to process in the actual moment.

That night was not quite as bad as the first. Being left alone with his thoughts still sucked, though, and his arm was raw and bloody again long before midnight. He drifted off for a few hours, to his own surprise, and managed to avoid looking at the graffiti once more.

It was during dinner the next night that things went to hell.

He was halfway through the sludge they called food when alarms began blaring on the lower levels. Roy wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t think it was a particularly good thing. The rogues around him were going, well, crazy, and he tightened his grip on the plastic fork they’d given him. He missed his bow.

And then the windows broke.

Roy looked up to see a shadowy figure clad in a leather jacket and bearing a bright red helmet fly in through the shattered glass, a gun in each hand. His breath caught at the sheer beauty of the man, the way he landed with a perfect roll and stood up in one fluid motion. The white eyes of his helmet almost immediately latched onto Roy, and he strode over, tearing the helmet from his head. The opaque lenses of his domino mask weren’t activated and Roy could only stare at the wild greenish color that stared back at him.

“Jesus _fuck_ , R – Arsenal,” Jason breathed. The room around them was silent, so silent Roy barely remembered the crowd of villains that were watching them.

“You killed him… for me?”

Roy dropped the fork, stepping forward so that there was barely any distance between them. He nodded, “Of course I did, Hood.”

“You were there, when I threatened Batman.”

Roy nodded again.

“You know who I am.”

“Yeah,” Roy said with a gentle smile, “You’re the love of my life.”

Jason made a choked noise, eyes dropping from Roy’s face. They lingered on his costume, and the corner of his lip quirked up, “Fuck, I love red.”

“Same,” Roy said with a smirk, “I didn’t know you got the same color. What’s the second one?”

“Second one?” Jason asked, brow furrowing. Roy couldn’t tear his gaze from the pursed frown of those full _red_ lips as he answered, “Yeah. When you came back. I saw green, that time.”

Jason’s lips turned down further in a frown as he said, “Huh. I only ever got red. I bet it was that stupid pit. I knew it fucked with me a bit, and pretty sure Tals said it was green.”

Roy didn’t know what he was talking about, but there would be time for that later.

“Are you here to break me out?” he asked, and Jason nodded, seeming to snap back to his mission, “Croc agreed to cause a diversion downstairs, but we haven’t got much time.”

Ivy materialized at his side, and Freeze did as well.

“Hold on, darlings,” Ivy said, and then a tree that grew a distance from the windows was twisting up towards them. They followed her instructions as they stepped onto the floral platform that opened before them, and before they knew it they were being carried softly through the air, deposited gently at the entrance to the botanical gardens. Roy held Jason’s hand the whole way there, and Jason’s gloved fingers clasped his just as tightly.

As soon as they were safely on the ground, Roy threw his arms around Jason, who tensed before carefully wrapping an arm around his back. When they parted, Roy refused to step more than a few inches back, craving Jason’s touch, the proof that he was _alive_ , with every fiber of his being.

“I can’t believe you really killed him for me,” Jason breathed again, watching Roy with awe. Roy carefully reached up to caress Jason’s cheek.

“I love you,” he said simply, “I needed you to know that.”

Jason closed his eyes, pressing into the touch like he hadn’t felt human contact in years. Roy wondered if he had.

“I do know that,” he said quietly, “I wasn’t sure – I thought, when you didn’t recognize me… I thought you didn’t care. I thought the soulbond had snapped. But now… how could I doubt?”

Roy reached for Jason’s hands with his own, wishing he could feel flesh beneath his own instead of leather, and said, “I had no idea it was you. I thought – fuck, I thought I’d gotten another soulmate, or something, ‘cause of the second color. But then you didn’t react to seeing me and I didn’t know what to think. I guess that’s because you only ever got the one?”

Jason nodded, then his grip tightened and he said in a rush, “I love you too. You know that, right? I always have.”

Roy gave a weak laugh and pulled Jason back in until they were a hair’s breadth apart, “Losing you was the most painful thing that ever happened to me. And I couldn’t even mourn you properly, because nobody knew.”

“I’m sorry,” Jason offered, but Roy shook his head, “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. And the guy who was responsible got what he had coming.”

“Was I – was that the reason you…?” Jason asked, one hand dropping to stroke over the marks on Roy’s arm. Roy shook his head, “That’s not your fault, either. I was already headed down that path. Losing you made me stop caring so much, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have done it regardless.”

Jason nodded, and Roy remembered that Jason had already lost a loved one to drugs. He clutched tightly to him and promised, “I’m okay, now. I’ve been clean for almost a year and a half, and I’ve got Waylon watching my back. I’m not gonna leave you.”

Jason’s hold on him didn’t weaken, but Roy felt something in him relax at Roy’s assurances.

They stood there, clinging to each other, for a long time before Jason said – with a teasing lilt in his voice, “Are you finally gonna kiss me, Harper, or are you gonna make me wait another seven years?”

Roy shook his head in fond amusement, but pulled Jason in all the same. His lips were soft against Roy’s, but the intensity with which he kissed was anything but. Roy gave as good as he got, pressing against him until their bodies were as good as one, flicking his tongue against Jason’s lips experimentally. Jason’s grip dug into his shoulders, grounding him as his mouth fell open in a small gasp that welcomed Roy’s tongue to slip inside. Feeling light, like a high but _better_ , more _stable_ , Roy absorbed the feeling of Jason’s powerful muscles moving beneath his hands, the feeling of his soft mouth, the feeling of warmth in his chest as Jason’s heart beat practically against his own.

After so long, Roy couldn’t quite believe they had made it there. When they finally pulled back, neither going too far, Roy let his eyes flutter open and gasped again. The world around him had blossomed into color, the botanical gardens a lush backdrop that sported nearly every color in the rainbow for Roy’s eyes to devour. In his arms, he felt Jason having the same reaction.

A cough to the side brought them at last back into a world beyond each other. Roy pulled away enough to turn and face the others, keeping Jason firmly tucked against his side – or a best he could given the other man’s bulk. Ivy was watching them in vague disgust, while Victor eyed them in confusion. Roy noted, belatedly, that Harley and Selina had shown up sometime while he and Jason had been making out. Harley looked like she was about to burst with excitement, while Selina just leveled them both with a fond smile.

“I thought you said your soulmate died?” Victor asked. Roy opened his mouth to explain, but Jason beat him to the punch, saying “I crawled out of my grave to come back to him.”

Roy turned to him in mild horror, “You what?”

Jason grimaced, “Shit. I was hoping that would sound romantic.”

“What – I mean, yeah, that would be super sweet if it weren’t for the _crawled out of your grave_ part!”

He looked at the ground, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have – I know firsthand how terrifying that part was. I didn’t mean to creep you out.”

Roy tightened his hold on Jason’s shoulders, “Jaybird, I’m not creeped out. I’m _devastated_. I can’t imagine how awful that must have been for you.”

Jason had tensed at the nickname, eyes wide.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Ivy interrupted their exchange, “You two are nauseating.”

“Aw, c’mon, Red!” Harley exclaimed, “They’re cute!”

The moment was broken, though, so they let themselves focus back on the rogues. Selina glanced around at them all and said, “You know, now might be a perfect time for an alliance.”

“An alliance?” Ivy asked. Catwoman nodded, “All – alright, _most_ of us act primarily on our consciences. If we… _teamed up_ , we could probably seize the shittier half of Gotham without much issue.”

Ivy hummed in thought, stroking the petals of a flower that had materialized beside her. Harley jumped at the idea, mallet twirling idly between her fingers as she chattered about plans for a team they hadn’t formed yet. She was less interested in the good conscience part and more in the smashing people and causing mayhem with her friends and soulmate, but she didn’t mind the idea that they might be able to help out a few people, either.

“Waylon should be involved,” Roy suggested. Selina nodded, “Of course.”

“Well, Jaybird?” Roy asked his soulmate, “What do you think?”

Jason bit his lip. Roy wanted to bite it for him.

At last he shrugged, letting a sharp grin cover his face, “Sure. Why not? Let’s roll with it.”

“Excellent,” said Catwoman, who had already gotten the agreement of the sirens. Mr. Freeze, on the other hand, shook his head, “Let me know if you need my services, and I’ll do what I can. But my time must be devoted to my wife and no one else.”

“That’s understandable,” Selina said.

“And admirable,” Pamela added.

“I’ll be on my way,” Victor said, “Good luck, Arsenal. Keep in touch, if you can.”

“Will do,” Roy saluted him as he departed from the gardens.

“You think Waylon will agree?” Selina asked. Roy nodded, “Absolutely. Let’s make Gotham _ours_.”

They spent the next few hours in Ivy’s safe house, plotting the moves they would take and what they would do once they gained power. Roy was honestly surprised how well he and Jason clicked with the Sirens, but he supposed they were all decent people. Specifically, they were all decent people who had made enemies of the bats.

“I never got to thank you, Hood,” Selina said as the three of them made their way out of Ivy’s gardens, “Thundersnow is in the best of health these days.”

“Thundersnow?”

“The kitten you rescued,” Selina reminded him. Jason gave a small smile at that, “Love the name. And I’m glad to hear it. He didn’t look well when we picked him up.”

“Well, you got him to the right place,” she smiled, “Hey, I picked up a new safe house in the Bowery not too long ago. You boys should take it. I’ll take my chances with the Batman showing up at my old place.”

“Are you sure?” Roy asked, hesitantly taking the keys she offered. She rolled her eyes, “Wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t. I’ve got more than enough spots throughout the city, and Batman almost never takes me in these days.”

“Gross,” Jason said as if he couldn’t help himself. Roy laughed at him, enjoying the feeling of their fingers laced together as they walked.

Selina said goodbye, and they had just taken a step into an alley in the direction of their new place when a shadow landed nimbly in front of them. Roy and Jason both immediately tried to shield the other, and ended up facing the newcomer shoulder to shoulder instead.

Nightwing watched them both, body coiled with tension but unmoving.

Roy stared back, grip on Jason tightening.

“Well, Dick?” Roy asked at last, “Are you going to call the Bat on us? Going to take us back to Arkham yourself?”

Dick continued to watch them for awhile, until at last he breathed, “No.”

“No?” Jason blinked, looking surprised. Dick shook his head, then nodded at a building to the side, “Follow me. I just want to talk, I promise.”

Jason looked like he wanted to argue, but Dick looked imploringly at Roy and said, “Please, Roy. If you ever believed in our friendship, please. Trust me.”

Roy glanced between Dick and Jason before he nodded, “I trust you.”

Jason frowned, but followed them into the dark building. Dick led them through a hallway and into a windowless room where he flicked on a light. It was small and mostly bare, a ragged couch and a mini fridge taking up most of the space. Dick pulled a few bottles of water out of the fridge and passed one to each of the others before chugging half of his own. He grabbed a box of cereal off the top of the fridge and started eating it out of the box like popcorn as he sat cross-legged opposite the couch. Roy hesitantly sat down, pulling Jason with him. Jason hunched in on himself, looking cornered, and Roy draped an arm around him that he hoped was grounding. From the way Jason relaxed slightly against him, it was.

Dick tugged off his mask, stuffing it in a pocket. His eyes were glued to the spot where Roy’s fingers rested on Jason’s shoulder and he shook his head in wonder, “I can’t believe I never put it together.”

“There wasn’t much to go on,” Roy said, to be fair, “We met all of five times, before…”

Dick nodded, and Roy could still recognize his old friend’s _trying not to cry_ expression.

“Although I kinda expected Bruce, at least, to put the cigarettes together,” Roy added. Dick frowned at him, but it was a confused frown.

“Cigarettes?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I visited his – your – grave four times now, and each time I left a pack of cigarettes.”

Jason still seemed very dissociated, but he snorted. Eyes locked on his lap, he mumbled, “Good timing. I always assumed there were more than the four I picked up.”

“You were there every time?” Roy asked, remembering the shadow from the most recent visit.

Jason nodded, “Well, I think so. The first time must’ve been real close to when I got out. The assassin who found me had me lead them back to where I’d come from, wanted to be sure I was me, I guess. I don’t really remember it, but that’s what Talia said, and the cigarettes were in my pocket after the pit.”

Dick blanched at those words, “Talia? The pit? Like… the Lazarus Pit?”

Jason nodded, “I was right, by the way, Roy. I don’t know how, but… I can still see the green fire. That’s definitely where the green came from, the second time.”

“Little Wing,” Dick breathed, “I’m so sorry. I should have – I should have been there.”

“You should have _killed_ him,” Jason spat, eyes still unfocused but voice gaining strength, “ _Bruce_ should have killed him.”

Roy remembered Poison Ivy’s story and his eyes flicked to Dick’s, wondering…

Dick was frowning into his cereal, sadness and anger battling in his eyes. And Roy _knew_.

“You _did_ kill him, didn’t you?” Roy heard himself ask, feeling Jason tense _more_ somehow as he said it. Dick’s jaw was clenched as he nodded, “I did. But Bruce _didn’t want it on my conscience_ like my conscience could rest easy knowing he was out there, torturing and killing people!”

“Excuse me?” Jason growled, and Roy was pretty sure his eyes hadn’t been that _green_ before, not even when green was the only color in them he could see.

“Jaybird?” Roy asked, holding on tighter, “You with me?”

“He fucking _what?_ ” Jason was almost screaming now, but it didn’t sound right. Dick’s eyes were wide, and he started saying, “Little Wing? Little Wing, please, you need to calm down.”

“You want me to _calm down?_ Fuck, why am I even surprised!” Jason was full on ranting, “He let’s that piece of shit walk free for years, he has the _gall_ to pretend he loved me, and now you’re telling me he actually _brought him back?_ I thought him trying to kill me to save the Joker was bad enough, but _this?_ ”

“What did you just say?” Dick asked, going still. Roy wanted to cry. What had any of them done to deserve this? Sure, he knew _he_ wasn’t worthy of good things, but what had Jason ever done to be owed this lot in life? Dick deserved better, too.

Roy realized Jason was too angry to continue speaking so he jumped in, fighting to get the words out, “Jay – Jason confronted Bruce a few nights ago. He threatened to kill the Joker, and Bruce – ”

Jason didn’t let him finish, unzipping his jacket and tearing the bandages from his neck. The wound was beginning to scar, but the bright _red_ of it still stood out starkly against the skin of his neck. The top flap of the cereal box in Dick’s hand was unceremoniously torn off as Dick swore. Roy had, even in the duration of their teenage friendship, very rarely heard Dick actually swear, so he wasn’t entirely prepared to hear, _“Fuck_ . That bastard spent years giving me excuses for his violence, his _distance_ , going on and on about how he was grieving for you , and when he gets you back, he practically _kills you himself?_ He’s got a lot of nerve calling Roy insane. Fuck Bruce.”

“Fuck _Batman_ ,” Jason added, and Dick nodded, “Fuck Batman.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Roy said, uncapping his water bottle and smirking at Dick’s disapproving frown.

Between the steadying arm around his shoulders and the validation of Dick’s own rage, the green in Jason’s eyes began to fade back into teal. Roy loved teal, he decided, now that he could see it. They sat in Dick’s tiny bolt hole for a few minutes, each trying to find a calm they couldn’t quite reach, although the water helped. Even Jason drank some, after checking that the bottles were factory-sealed.

At length, Jason asked – or rather mumbled – a question that had, evidently, been weighing on his mind, “Who’s the replacement?”

Dick blinked for a second, before giving his best _mom-friend_ frown, “You mean Tim? The new Robin?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s a good kid,” Dick said, “Smart as all hell. Not great at sticking up for himself, but he’s learning. Like he’s amazing at facing down villains and reporters and rich people at galas. He’s in his element there. But when it comes to the _real_ him? I worry about him.”

Jason’s scowled, “So he’s better than me. Figured as much.”

“Little Wing,” Dick shook his head, “You’re both amazing. Very _very_ different, but both amazing. Honestly, I think you’d like him.”

“I tried to kill him,” Jason said plainly, “Not a great start to brotherly bonding.”

“Eh,” Dick shrugged, “Pretty sure that’s pretty common between brothers.”

“You never tried to kill me,” Jason pointed out.

“I’m the eldest! Someone has to be the responsible one. Besides,” Dick’s grin took a mischievous turn, “When you first showed up, you were just a tiny little kid!”

“You’re right,” Jason ground out, “It must be common. I’m gonna fucking end you.”

Dick cackled as Jason pulled himself off the couch to make a lunge at him, rolling effortlessly to the side to avoid it. Roy face-palmed, wondered why he had to be the responsible one here, realized he didn’t, and then leaned back to watch the entertainment. He egged Jason on, savoring the betrayed expression Dick shot him, even though it was mostly ruined by the fact that Dick was twisted halfway around Jason’s shoulder and mostly upside-down in the moment. Eventually, after Dick had somehow managed a double backflip in the tiny room and landed a solid smack to Jason’s chest, the younger man got the upper hand and slammed Dick to the floor, keeping him down with a knee.

“Take it back!”

“Never!”

Jason growled wordlessly, digging his knee deeper into Dick’s stomach as Roy laughed in the background.

“Fine!” Dick held up his hands, “I surrender! You were the most massive and intimidating skin-and-bones child I’d ever clapped eyes on. Happy?”

Jason dug his knee in a little bit more before letting up and muttering, “Dickface.”

Roy bit his lip around more laughter. If it is weren’t for the shadow of Bruce’s stupid decisions looming over the room, Roy could almost see a future where Jason got to be happy with a family. When they had calmed down again, Dick sighed, “I’m glad you found each other. Roy, when you – when I figured out what you meant, I was shocked. You and _Jason?_ My little brother? But you guys are really good for each other. This is, this is the happiest I’ve seen _either_ of you in five years. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Roy blinked. He hadn’t been expected that kind of speech.

“And I meant it when I said fuck Bruce,” Dick added, “I’m not gonna turn you over to him. I know you’re plotting something with Ivy, at the very least, but I don’t care. Bruce is wrong. Between you and him, he’s the unstable one. I have faith in you. Both of you. You’re good people.”

“Keep talking like that and we might ask you to join,” Roy joked. Dick flashed a humorless smile, “I’d be tempted to agree, if it weren’t for Tim. He’s too young to stand up to Bruce, and somebody damn well has to. Babs will, but she’s not always there.”

Jason snorted, “Pretty sure he’s older than I was the first time _I_ stood up to Batman.”

Dick rolled his eyes, “When did you ever _not_ stand up to Batman? Like I told you, Tim’s different. I’m not sure he’s figured out he’s _allowed_ to argue with Bruce, yet.”

“I thought _none_ of us were ‘allowed’ to argue with the Bat,” Jason countered. Dick shrugged, “Only if we assume Bruce makes the rules.”

“If Bruce doesn’t make the rules, who does?” Roy asked curiously. In unison, Dick and Jason immediately replied, “Alfred.”

“Right. Of course,” Roy nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Do you guys have somewhere to stay tonight?” Dick asked, “Somewhere Bruce won’t know to look?”

Roy nodded, “Selina lent us a new place.”

“Good,” Dick nodded back, “That’s good. I won’t keep you, then. I just needed to know you’d both be okay. And, to let you know… if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. My loyalty is to my family. That includes you.”

He paused when they were at the door, “It also includes Tim. Don’t threaten him again.”

“I don’t plan to,” Jason said honestly, “I mean maybe to mess with Bruce, but not for real. I – he’s just a kid. It’s not his fault Bruce is a piece of shit.”

Dick looked proud as he smiled at Jason, “Maybe I’ll introduce you two sometime. You were his hero growing up, you know.”

Jason’s eyes went wide at that, as if he had never in his wildest dreams imagined being somebody’s hero. Roy squeezed his hand.

“Oh,” Jason said at last, “Well, maybe. We’ll see.”

“See you around, Little Wing,” Dick waved at them, “Good to see you again, Roy.”

“You too.”

After all the excitement of that night and the previous ones, Roy couldn’t quite believe it when they unlocked the door to Selina’s safe house and stumbled inside. He felt exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Nothing felt quite so amazing as stripping out of his uniform at last and taking a real, hot shower after the nightmare that was Arkham. Jason refused to go farther than one room away, and Roy felt the same desire to keep him close. They had waited so fucking long for each other, and neither of them were willing to risk anything else separating them again.

When they were finally clean and dressed in comfortable clothes – with weapons still in reach, so they could properly relax – they collapsed on the bed together. Jason’s hands latched onto Roy’s shoulders instantly, pulling him as close as possible. Roy wrapped his arms around Jason, lips seeking his in the dim moonlight that lit the room.

“Fuck," Jason gasped against his mouth, “I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted _you_.”

“Never have to wait again,” Roy told him between kisses, just as desperate, “I’ll give you anything you ask for, anything you want.”

“Just you,” Jason replied, his head dropping to nestle against Roy’s shoulder as he all but sobbed, “I just want you.”

“You have me,” Roy said, closing his eyes and pressing a kiss to Jason’s temple, “And I’m never gonna leave you – not by choice. And if by force? Fuck, Jaybaby, you beat _death_ to come back to me, I’ll always find a way back to you.”

Jason gasped sharply, fingers digging deeper into Roy’s flesh as he held on tight, burying his face deeper in Roy’s neck. Roy, who had always been more octopus than man when it came to cuddling, gave back as good, wrapping all of his limbs around Jason in what would have been a crushing embrace if Jason hadn’t been a mass of pure muscle. One of Jason’s hands migrated up to bury itself in Roy’s hair and the redhead gave a gasp of his own. Roy extracted one of his hands to stroke gentle caresses across Jason’s face and asked, “What do you want, Jaybird? What do you need?”

“You,” Jason breathed again, “I don’t know, just _you_.”

Roy took a deep breath to steady himself. He nodded, “Okay. I’m here. I’ll take good care of you, Jaybaby. I’m here.”

Jason leaned up to kiss him again, and they lost themselves to the night. For all their desperate desire, when Roy finally drifted off over an hour later, Jason firmly settled in his arms, all he could think was that it felt like coming home.

Roy woke the next morning to sunlight streaming in through the windows and an empty bed. It took him a moment to register why that wasn’t right, but when he did his heart stuttered and he shot upright. The hammering of his heart quickly calmed, though, as the door to the bedroom opened to reveal Jason holding a tray of food.

“Hey,” he greeted softly when his eyes met Roy’s, “You’re awake.”

“You made breakfast?” Roy asked, and Jason nodded, setting the tray in Roy’s lap. He glanced down to see golden toast topped with perfectly cooked fried eggs and a neat pile of crispy bacon. His stomach grumbled as soon as the scent reached him.

“You are heaven sent,” Roy declared, and Jason snorted, “Literally.”

Roy shook his head with a laugh and patted the spot on the bed beside him for Jason to join him.

“This is fucking delicious, Jaybird,” Roy said after biting into the eggs and toast. Jason smirked at the compliment, which Roy knew meant _Jason_ knew how damn good of a cook he was. His heart swelled at the thought; Jason deserved to know how amazing he was.

“Good to know you love me for more than just my body, Roytoy,” he teased, and Roy laughed, letting his head rest against Jason. They finished off their breakfast in comfortable silence, content to just bask in each other’s company at long last. Roy wasn’t sure how long it had been, probably over an hour, when Jason spoke again.

“So were you right?”

“Hmm?” Roy gazed at him. He would never get tired of that view, “Right about what?”

“Was it worth the wait?”

“For you, Jaybaby?” Roy asked incredulously, “It was worth every minute.”

Jason looked down in a way that was so _incredibly_ cute, even though it tugged at Roy’s heart to know how uncomfortable with vulnerability his love was. He put a hand under Jason’s chin, slowly tilting it up to meet his eyes, and planted a sweet, tender kiss on those pouty lips. When he pulled back, he smiled at the success of his move, enjoying Jason’s own slowly unfurling grin.

“Sap,” Jason elbowed him. Roy laughed, kissing him again quickly before darting back and saying, “Honey?”

Jason stared at him for a moment, before he burst out laughing, too, “If you’re gonna make food-based puns, you’re gonna have to learn how to cook..”

“But you’re so good at it, Jaybaby,” Roy argued with a smile. Jason laughed again, “Then I know what I’m talking about. I’ll teach you.”

With the plates to the side, Roy ended up with his head in Jason’s lap, strong fingers carding through his hair. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling immensely. At length, he heard Jason say softly, “For the record, I think so, too. You’re more than worth it. All of it.”

Roy reached up to where Jason’s other hand rested against his side, intertwining their fingers. It had been a long seven years since Roy had first seen the color red. It was still his favorite color, just like it was Jason’s. Those seven years had been filled with hardships, tragedy piling on tragedy with no breaks in between. Now, though, at the end of the wait, neither Jason nor Roy could ask for a better reward. Destiny sat back, content with a job well done, and let them revel in their happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope the pacing works, I really didn't expect it to get this long. Also it's surprisingly hard to avoid using color descriptors. Let me know if I accidentally used any where I wasn't supposed to!
> 
> A few notes I couldn't work into the story without adding at least 5k more words: Roy had a brief fling with Jade sometime between meeting Croc and meeting Red Hood, so he and Jason meet toddler!Lian sometime after this and they all love each other immediately. Jade shows up periodically to bring Lian cool gifts from around the world. Also, Oliver is barely in this but I imagine in this particular version that he actually really wants to reconcile with Roy and that happens at some point. I make no such promises about this version of Bruce, but Tim and Jason end up becoming close and Babs and Alfred are pretty chill about the anti-hero team that starts protecting Gotham's poorest. Kori might join them at some point, idk. 
> 
> Also some lore about this soulmate world: polyamorous people do get multiple colors, but for hand-wavy (aka I forgot to think this through) reasons, Roy knew that didn't apply to him. For people who aren't interested in kissing other people, a forehead kiss works, but only for them bc otherwise my long and angsty plot wouldn't make sense lmao.
> 
> As a side note, if any of you are here from my Gotham fics, I've mentioned in the comments of a few of those that Gotham's last few seasons left me feeling really bitter. I do intend to write more fic of DC/Batman characters, but I will not be writing any more Gotham fics, nor will I be continuing the WIPs I still have for it. To avoid this issue in the future, I will be completing any multi-chapter fics I write before publishing, even if I still publish one chapter at a time. 
> 
> From here on out, this is a Jason Todd stan account (I jest... or do I?) Look for more JayRoy and BatFam on the way!


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